


Fishbowl Souls

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Kink, Gay Sex, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Ozpin is repressed and Qrow is emotionally constipated, Porn With Plot, Priest AU, and entirely kinkier than I anticipated, if you squint enough - Freeform, this is completely and utterly self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Ozpin is a priest with a comfortable life - a comfortable life that is quickly disrupted when a tall, dark, and less than sober stranger stumbles into the church. His relationship with Qrow Branwen leads to questions, complications, and revelations...of all manners.





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small project I threw together while we edit our main fic, The Shining Beacon. I wrote, Cocks edited.
> 
> It's entirely self-indulgent and I hate myself a bit for writing something this shameless. 
> 
> Nevertheless, enjoy.
> 
> ~Clocks

They all said there would be one.

One person who came to you, asking for your help, your guidance, to make sense of the horror or sadness of their lives, as if you knew better, as if God himself spoke to you any clearer than he did the tear-stained faces that begged for understanding.

It would be when you least expected it. Not in the middle of the night, the church doors bursting open with some calamity, some act of God in the shape of earthquake or flood. It would be on a day when you were tired, or perhaps too busy to eat, or simply a mundane day when nothing seemed particularly interesting, and you would have preferred the confessional to remain quiet and empty.

For Ozpin, the day came on an overcast Tuesday.

Like his elders told him, years ago, the meeting almost wasn’t worth noting.

Autumn had approached the city swiftly, as it always did in September, seaside winds whistling through the heavy church doors when someone entered, whispering a protesting scream as they were forced closed once more. 

He was the last one in the church that night, ticking things off his internal checklist, ensuring that the morning would find everything precisely so. It had been a long day, but not a particularly hard one, with the usual suspects coming to confessional after work, or after sobering up, or simply because they were lonely and preferred to speak to a priest rather than their TVs or disembodied writing from internet friends. 

“You guys still open?”

The voice startled Ozpin, the stack of bibles in his hands faltered, one skidding across the tiled floor. He scooped it up, cradling the sacred books against his chest, eyes roving up to the source of his surprise.

He was a lean man, tall but not so tall as Ozpin himself, propped against one of the stone pillars at the threshold. Ozpin knew the type; his button-up shirt wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black boots worn and scuffed, unkempt facial hair. He met Ozpin’s eyes and ran a hand carelessly through dark hair, light catching on thick silver streaks. He wasn’t old – younger, no doubt, than Ozpin – but he carried a weight of age in his eyes, in those premature gray locks.

“I’m available for anyone who needs me,” Ozpin said, replacing the bibles in the pews and straightening, smoothing his robes.

The man snorted, amused for a reason not readily explained. 

“That’s a pretty way of sayin’ you were closing up, but you’re being nice.”

Ozpin felt his lips twitch. He liked the man’s voice, graveled by exhaustion, but firm. Matter of fact. “You’re very perceptive,” he replied. “Nevertheless, my offer stands.”

The man nodded, once with a silent acceptance that faded into an easy bobbing, his eyes darting about. “You alone?”

“The trials of a newcomer,” Ozpin said, with a soft shrug. 

“New, eh? To the place, or the church?”

“This church,” Ozpin said. “I’ve been ordained for many, many years.”

 _“Experienced,”_ the man said sarcastically.

“Beg pardon?”

“Nothing. Name’s Qrow. Qrow Branwen.”

“Ozpin.” He accepted Qrow’s offered hand, the man giving his wrist a sharp flick, calloused fingers running over Ozpin’s briefly. He smelled faintly of whiskey, of worn leather – not unpleasant mingled with the clean, candle-smoke scent of the church.

“Funny name,” he remarked.

“Says the man named after a bird,” Ozpin replied.

Qrow laughed, the sound almost free of darkness. “I like you,” he decided. “Even though you’re a priest.”

“I’m honored.”

“Am I s’pposed to call you Father or something?”

“If you would like. Ozpin is fine.”

“You got a last name?”

“Pine.”

Qrow nodded again, attention diverted for the hundredth time, narrowed eyes studying the pews, the dark stained-glass windows.

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Branwen?”

“Qrow. Just Qrow. Everything else sounds like prep school.” The man shoved his rough hands in his pockets, craning his neck as he looked around. “I dunno. It was here, I needed to burn off the whiskey. Forgot a jacket.” He shrugged.

Ozpin wondered if he had ever been to prep school.

“It is quite cold out.”

“As balls.”

He watched the priest for a reaction, but Ozpin merely offered a small smile. Vulgar language wasn’t anything that shocked him. He had been in the business of listening to sins for too long.

“If you’ve come here, it must mean something.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “All in God’s plan, eh?” he asked, briefly waving his hands up. “Don’t read too much into it, Father. It’s cold, I can’t drive, I don’t wanna walk home. That’s it. I don’t like churches.”

Ozpin sat down sideways in a pew, facing the stranger. “Why not?”

“Bunch of old guys telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my life? Judging my decisions like they’re as good as God themselves? Hard pass,” Qrow said. 

Ozpin listened without a word, letting Qrow vent. 

“And priests are the worst, because you go asking for help and all they do is tell you to pray and hope that magically makes you a better fucking person. All talk from guys who spend their entire lives in a church, away from what life is really like.”

The younger man glanced down. “No offense. You seem all right, Oz. For a priest.”

_Oz._

Ozpin almost smiled, charmed by the nickname. His patrons were usually much more formal, good people who found comfort in their faith and respected their priests. No one in the church had called Ozpin by name in a long time.

“Thank you.”

“See, I can never tell if you’re saying shit because you mean it, or because you’re all programmed.”

“If my intent is goodwill, does it matter if it is trained behavior?”

Qrow snorted, shaking his head. “It’s too late for that kind of philosophy, Oz. I didn’t come here to debate. Just to stay warm.”

“You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay.”

“And you’ll stay with me?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re afraid I’ll steal shit.”

Ozpin smiled. “Because it is my duty to provide comfort to those who ask of it.”

Qrow rolled his eyes.

“And yes, because you may _steal shit.”_

Qrow looked down, surprised. Then he caught the smile on Ozpin’s face and the two shared a quiet laugh.

“So,” Qrow said, leaning on the pew across from Ozpin. “New to the city, eh? Where are you from?”

“Here, actually,” Ozpin said. “Born and raised in the area, but my position has taken me elsewhere. I’ve been at more churches than I can recall.” Ozpin ran a palm on the worn wood of the pews, gazing about the church affectionately.

“They coulda sent you somewhere else. There are better churches in better neighborhoods. Somewhere warm.” Qrow slipped a flask from his pocket, brown leather worn just as much as the pews.

“I requested this church.”

“No shit?” Qrow snorted and drank. “You’re some kind of masochist, Oz.”

“I came home to help those most in need. Besides, I like the cold.”

Qrow shrugged. “Masochist.”

Ozpin merely shook his head, smiling. “Not the usual descriptor I’m given.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true. All Catholics are, in some manner. What d’you think, Oz? Take a little corporeal punishment in the bedroom?” Qrow winked, all scruffy, handsome carelessness.

Ozpin felt his face warm, coughing deliberately. 

“Ah,” Qrow said, smirking. “Right. Celibate and all that. Damn shame.”

Ozpin cleared his throat, dropping his eyes. “I don’t regard that vow in the same light,” he said carefully. Qrow had the look of a predator now, pleased he had found a way to unnerve the priest.

“I didn’t mean the vow in general,” Qrow said. He cocked his head slightly, his flask at his lips, his eyes heavy on Ozpin’s face. “Just for you.”

The long once-over Qrow gave the priest was even worse than his words. Ozpin’s mind groped for words, his body giving an involuntary shudder.

Disapproval, of course.

“Are you finished teasing me?” Ozpin asked dryly, quietly ignoring the blush rising hot under his collar. He resisted pulling at it like some flustered cartoon character, clinging to his disgruntled dignity instead.

“For now,” Qrow said, with another wink, pushing himself off the pew. “I like you, Oz. I may come back again, when I need a warm body.”

“You’re not half as charming as you think you are,” Ozpin said.

He had no doubt he was quite red now.

“If only that was true,” Qrow sang. He replaced the flask in his back pocket.

“I thought you couldn’t drive.”

“I’ll walk it.” He offered the priest an unconcerned wave, pulling the door open and disappearing into the darkness. “Have a sweet dream about me, Oz.”

“Good night, Mr. Branwen,” Ozpin said, more sharply than intended.

Qrow’s graveled laugh echoed faintly in response.

Ozpin sat for a few moments longer, contemplating this visit. Skeptics were not unusual, nor the hostility toward the church, the priests. But Qrow Branwen…

He let out a short breath, rousing himself from thoughts he hadn’t thought in years, suddenly surging forward with a whiskey-laced stranger’s indiscreet jokes. 

That’s all they were, after all. Jokes at Ozpin’s expense, meant to shock him, make him blush.

He wondered if Qrow meant what he said about visiting again. About any of it.

_Hush, old man._

He went home after Qrow’s departure and stayed up too late, staring at the shadows on his ceiling. 

He would never admit that Qrow appeared in his dreams that night.


	2. Anger

Qrow didn’t come back the next day.

Ozpin wasn’t sure why that surprised him. Qrow’s scruff, his drinking, his carelessly shocking jokes – all things nomadic, a response to the moment and nothing more. He wouldn’t come back. Whatever brought Qrow to the church – crisis or convenience – had passed now, sobered in the morning light or drowned in more whiskey until it didn’t matter. Ozpin may have wanted to help him, but it was more than clear that Qrow did not want his help.

Qrow didn’t come on Thursday either.

Ozpin rebuked himself as he closed the church doors for the night. He couldn’t decide exactly what it was that charmed him about Qrow, or made the priest want to reach out and help him.

_Touch him._

Ozpin slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, irritated at his own thoughts.

_You don’t know anything_ about _him. Nothing except that he drinks too much and makes lewd jokes._

So then why think of him at all?

His looks.

Fine. Ozpin acknowledged this and this alone in his internal debate. The man was good-looking. Annoyingly so. Worse was that Qrow seemed to know it himself. 

Ozpin had a crush, a silly little thing he hadn’t experienced since before he entered the church. It was based on little more than appearances, on a man that was everything Ozpin was not attracted to. It would pass quickly, harmlessly. 

After all, Qrow hadn’t meant any of it. He only wanted to watch Ozpin squirm.

_The ass._

On Friday, Ozpin closed the church with far fewer qualms regarding Qrow’s absence. 

Which is exactly why the bastard decided to show up again.

His hand – rough, callused fingers, adorned with simple silver bands – held the door open as he stepped inside amidst the howling autumn wind, shaking his head as though the chill had seeped through his ears. He gave Ozpin a crooked smirk as he closed the door behind him. 

“Oz,” he said, by way of greeting. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

The priest felt the blush, sudden and violent.

_Get a hold of yourself, old man._

“Mr…Branwen, is it?” Ozpin offered instead.

Qrow’s smirk grew into a grin. “Sassy. That’s kinda hot.”

Ozpin went scarlet.

He fussed with whatever was near him in a show of being busy when he most certainly was not – anything to avoid looking at Qrow.

“So,” the younger man said, sauntering up the empty aisle. “You dream of me?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said, matter-of-factly. “I dreamt you returned here and redeemed yourself through God’s teachings.”

Qrow laughed, a sharp sound almost like a bark. “Isn’t there a commandment against sarcasm in the priesthood?”

“You certainly wouldn’t know.”

Qrow only grinned, the sort of expression that suggested he knew all of Ozpin’s secrets.

“Can I help you with something, or is that an unwelcome question?”

“You’re so mean to me tonight, Oz. What did I do? Steal your virtue before we even kissed?”

Ozpin sighed, finally turning to face his visitor. “I apologize. It was a long day. If you really do want my help, of course I am happy to offer it.”

“Nah, I just came to bother you because I was bored.”

Irritation flooded. Ozpin snorted. “You’re even less charming with a second taste of your humor.”

Qrow was before him then, blocking the path from between the pews, his arms on either side. 

“Yeah?” he asked. The word was an accusation.

He was so close Ozpin could feel the heat of his breath. 

“I don’t remember you tasting me the first time.”

Ozpin froze, his glasses slipping to the edge of his nose, his eyes locked on Qrow. His lips moved but to no point; there were no words at this proximity. 

“I think you’re bored,” Qrow accused, his voice soft, as though willing Ozpin to remain in place. “I think you could use some excitement in your life. Just a _touch –“_

For a tortured moment, Qrow seemed to lean forward. Ozpin, holding his breath, felt the pull, magnets within him stirring.

Every fiber of his mind had to work to wrench him away.

Ozpin turned away with his whole body, clenching eyes shut, hand gripping the back of a pew. 

_He’s playing with you._

This wasn’t real. This was lust, the simplest sin – before today – for Ozpin to resist.

But dear God, was this a test –

Qrow’s graveled laugh followed him, Ozpin’s blush now less flustered and more embarrassed. He was making a perfect fool of himself.

No. 

Qrow was.

Ozpin resented him in that moment, his fingers aching with the strength of his grasp.

“Look, I’ll go if you want me to,” Qrow said. Ozpin could hear the shrug in his voice.

Ozpin hated himself in that moment because he wanted Qrow to stay.

“It’s…been a long day,” Ozpin said softly. 

“Message received.”

A shuffle of feet suggested Qrow had pushed himself off the pew, away from Ozpin’s immediate vicinity. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just how I am. I just…fuck things up.”

Ozpin looked up at last, catching the tail end of another shrug.

“It’s been a long day for me too, you know? And I liked your company. But I don’t wanna impose.”

Guilt washed over Ozpin as Qrow made his way to the doors.

“Qrow.”

The younger man turned, resigned. 

What _really_ brought him to the church?

“Tell me about it.”

Qrow raised a single eyebrow, all skepticism.

“Yeah?”

Well. Maybe not _all._

Ozpin managed half a smile, offering a nearby pew. 

“Please,” he said.

Qrow considered this for a moment longer. Then he sat.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said.

“Anywhere you want.” Ozpin, previously so afraid of proximity, sat beside him.

Qrow ran a hand through his hair - _how would it feel to do that_ \- and sighed.

“It’s my niece’s birthday,” he said at last.

“How old is she?”

“Yang is eleven today. Her sister Ruby is eight. Nine in a month or so.”

“Children can be quite the blessing.”

“They are.” Qrow paused, hand reaching toward his back pocket – his flask.

His hand stopped short, mid-air.

“Yang asked about her mom today,” Qrow said. 

The next words seemed to weigh him down, the shadows on his face deepening. Ozpin waited, all patience, for Qrow to find the strength to continue.

“Probably just wanted to hear her voice on her birthday. I couldn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

Qrow’s hand fell and Ozpin took it, rough fingers tightening. Qrow was free of pretense now, free of the shield his inappropriate humor provided.

“She shot up some kids on Tuesday. Kids Yang’s age, or not much older. Raven – my sister – she’s in… she’s involved with some people. And some other people pissed her off so she ordered a hit. She ordered a fucking hit on some kids for talkin’ shit two days before her own kid’s birthday.”

Qrow sighed, impatience and irritation.

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to explain that’s why she won’t call Yang?”

Ozpin merely squeezed Qrow’s hand as the younger man dissolved into his grief, his pain and anger. It was not an uncommon story in his city – children abandoned, parents killed or killing, gangs picking fights for the sake of blood sport.

All of it, commonplace tragedies. 

Ozpin held Qrow’s hand as he poured out his version of the familiar story, and then his shoulders, and then his head, and faced the rawness of it with him.


	3. Bargaining

Ozpin dreamed of Qrow a lot after that night. Some, simple dreams of his face, the echo of his voice. Others, tortured scenes of his family, faceless little girls without a mother.

These were the dreams Ozpin believed God sent to him, like visions of old. Qrow had touched Ozpin in a way he had not felt in years, a quiet, sad ache that made him wish to cure all the evils in Qrow’s life. 

Other dreams were not sent from God at all, unless meant to test the priest’s most sacred vows.

These were the dreams of red smoke and heat, strangled panting breaths and the friction of skin on skin, the teasing ghosts of Qrow’s fingertips and the unfamiliar sting of whiskey-soaked lips. Ozpin would wake, silver hair sweat-soaked, his body aching for a touch he did not know. He would sit up until the worst of it passed, the sultry whispers still in his ears, his face hot with shame and desire. Slowly, painfully, the images faded, and Ozpin would slip from damp sheets to change his shirt and splash cold water on his face.

He didn’t sleep after these dreams.

It was simple enough to convince himself that lust was a perfectly normal human reaction, and that he was no less for experiencing it, so long as he understood that it must be resisted. 

No matter how Ozpin longed after the dreams.

Less simple were the dreams where Qrow was happy – truly happy, the lines on his face smoothed into that great grin, eyes crinkling as he laughed, a sound untouched by pain or guilt or sorrow. Ozpin would wake slowly from these dreams to a soft dampness in his own eyes, this ache inside him so deep that it was all he could do to deny being in love.

That, he knew, was impossibly dangerous.

The danger grew with every new visit from Qrow. On some visits, Qrow was quiet, following Ozpin about the church as the priest completed his duties, rarely saying a word. When Ozpin was finished, they would sit in a pew in the back. On very bad nights, Ozpin would take Qrow’s hand and sit, the two saying nothing at all.

On the better days, Qrow was all bravado, flirtatious whispers when others were around to make Ozpin blush, a touch of his calloused fingers against Ozpin’s cheek or throat, every word an innuendo or joke. These days drove Ozpin nearly mad, pleased by Qrow’s good mood but too reactive to his teasing. Ozpin both longed for Qrow’s flirting and hated how much he enjoyed it, recalling himself always a moment too late, inappropriate daydreams breaking in at the worst times.

A month of this torture brought Qrow back to the church. It was late and Ozpin had given up expecting him that day, the cold of the night seeping into the church now that it was dark and empty. Qrow walked in, hands shoved in his pockets and a small bag on his shoulder.

Ozpin glanced at him, offering a small smile, studying Qrow’s body language.

It wasn’t a good day.

He put down the bible in his hands and faced Qrow, waiting for a greeting that did not come.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” he asked quietly.

“You got anything stronger?”

Ozpin thought for a moment. “I have red wine in the back.”

“That’ll do.”

Ozpin led the way and Qrow followed like a bird expecting a handout.

“You have a kitchen back here?”

“Of course. We also have a few rooms for overnight guests.” Ozpin offered Qrow a seat at the modest table, placing a drinking glass in front of him. “I’m afraid we don’t have proper wine glasses.”

Qrow nodded. “Well, I’m pretty sure this is supposed to be the blood of Christ you’re giving me, so I think we’re both breaking a few rules tonight.”

Ozpin smiled, a gesture for himself. “For you, Qrow, I think I can let it slide.”

Qrow looked up from his wine, all eyebrows.

“Why do you say that?”

Ozpin poured himself a small glass of wine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you do this shit for me? Let me come bother you all the time. Let me drink your Jesus wine. Why? And don’t give me that ‘because I’m a priest’ bullshit. We both know that’s not it.”

They _did_ both know it. Ozpin tapped his glass softly. 

“I care about you, Qrow.”

Qrow snorted, tipping the glass back violently.

“You do, huh. You really trust me to be a good person?”

“I do. Implicitly.”

“God, Oz, sometimes you’re the smartest guy I know, and then you say dumb shit like that. When have I ever given you a reason to trust me? My twin sister’s a fucking murderer, I’m a drunk.”

“Neither of those mean you are inherently untrustworthy.”

Qrow poured more wine, eyeing Ozpin, all suspicion. “You really mean that, don’t you? Jesus Christ, Ozpin.”

The priest had long ago stopped lecturing Qrow on his language. Instead, he sipped his wine and smiled again. 

“If you mean to convince me otherwise, I’m afraid you will have to try much harder.”

Qrow met Ozpin’s eyes, narrowing. Ozpin knew this look – a predator looking at prey. 

“Yeah?” Qrow took his second glass of wine like a shot, grimacing. “How about a little trust exercise, then?”

_This is dangerous._

Ozpin knew it and drank his wine, meeting Qrow’s dark stare.

“Very well,” he said.

“Come on,” Qrow said, rising abruptly. “Show me where one of those guest rooms are.”

Ozpin rose, leaving his stained glass behind. Again Qrow followed, surveying the small room that Ozpin offered, the neatly made bed in the corner, austere dresser along the wall.

“This’ll do,” Qrow said. “Sit on the bed.”

Ozpin glanced at him. Qrow’s voice had gone dark. Soft and dangerous. 

He did as Qrow asked, folding his hands in his lap.

Qrow put his bag on the wooden dresser, digging around until he found a slip of fabric. He stood over Ozpin, taking the priest’s glasses.

Without ceremony, Qrow tied the blindfold on. The room went dark.

“Do you still trust me?”

Ozpin swallowed, his nerves beginning to rise. He didn’t know what to expect – but _oh_ did he have _ideas_ \- but he knew this moment was pivotal somehow, to Qrow, to himself, to their relationship.

“Yes,” Ozpin whispered.

Without a pause, Qrow had Ozpin’s wrists bound, arms wrenched over, dragged to the headboard. 

“How ‘bout now?” came the whispered reply, his tone harsh.

Ozpin needed more than a moment to steady his breath. He tugged lightly; his wrists remained firmly in place. 

He was entirely at Qrow’s mercy now.

“Yes,” Ozpin whispered, fainter than before.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Qrow hissed, and then his lips were pressed against Ozpin’s and the priest whimpered loudly, half in surprise and half in utter desire. He froze in place for only a moment as everything struck him at once – the force of Qrow’s lips, the taste of red wine, the tease of his tongue – and then his body abandoned his mind, pressing back in fevered need, another whimper when Qrow was fully atop him, heavy and demanding, teeth catching Ozpin’s lower lip and biting until the priest cried out but _oh God_ the pain was _exquisite_ -

Qrow pulled back and Ozpin could hear him panting, the breath hot in Ozpin’s ear, the priest squirming at the teasing touches.

A warm fingertip, then two, on his neck, trailing across the collar he wore. A moment’s gentleness before the tab was ripped off, Qrow’s hand around Ozpin’s throat, tightening.

“Still?” he asked, his voice a rasp.

Ozpin swallowed against Qrow’s palm, his own breath labored.

_“Yes.”_

The fingers tightened until Ozpin couldn’t breathe at all, his attempts a strangled noise in the quiet room. Qrow ground his hips against Ozpin as he released his throat, timed to allow Ozpin to let out a smothered moan. Every part of him was alight, fire racing through his blood, his mind free of everything but an incoherent need.

Qrow kissed his neck, soothing tortured skin, his hips heavy on Ozpin, grinding in place until Ozpin felt that alone stole his breath, his wrists pulling desperately against their binding. He could feel Qrow through their clothing, the vague thought that Ozpin had made him this hard, this eager -

“Oh, _God_ -“

Qrow offered a clothed thrust against him, dragging the protest into a wordless moan, Ozpin’s back aching sharply.

“I’m your God tonight, Father,” Qrow whispered, running his tongue over Ozpin’s ear, the priest shivering beneath him, electricity firing throughout his limbs.

He barely felt Qrow undoing his shirt until his hands ran hot down bare skin, Qrow’s tongue following behind them. Ozpin made a noise he didn’t recognize from himself, something that was not quite a sob, aching in a way that he knew was driving him toward madness, toward ruin.

He wanted every wonderful, awful moment of it.

Qrow’s hands pulled at Ozpin’s belt as his mouth latched onto a nipple, a new source of pleasure that made Ozpin’s breath catch again and again, until he felt dizzy and lightheaded.

He fell back to earth the moment Qrow wrapped his hands around him.

He arched violently off the bed, obscene pleasure roaring through him, his moan so desperate it was scarcely audible, arms jerking against restraints.

_”Qrow, my God – “_

Qrow released him instantly. Ozpin gasped, surprised disappointment.

“Should I stop, Father?”

“What – _no_ –“ The protest tumbled from Ozpin’s lips without thinking.

“No?”

Qrow’s hands returned, Ozpin whining helplessly as Qrow offered a slow pump.

“That’s right,” Qrow growled. “Feel it, Oz. Doesn’t it feel good to disobey God?”

“I – I –“ Ozpin struggled to protest this declaration, thoughts drowning in pleasure. “That’s not –“

Qrow’s mouth was around him then, offering a counterargument before Ozpin could speak.

_”Ahh – Qrow – oh – OH - “_

He felt the chill air on his legs as Qrow tore his pants free, but Ozpin had no further objections. This was bliss and sin and damnation and salvation all at once, Ozpin arching and canting his hips in desperate need.

“Does this end your vow of chasity?” Qrow growled. “Or do I need to…”

The question culminated with a sudden flick of his wrist, Ozpin gasping and arching anew, his mouth opening in a silent O, his hands clenching in helpless fists, the bindings groaning.

Qrow was inside him now, a finger roughly exploring. So little and yet Ozpin already felt filled by it, the sensation unlike anything he had known, and yet not unwelcome. He struggled to breathe as Qrow slowly thrust his finger in and out, Ozpin hearing his soft _oh oh ohs_ as though very far away. His hips began to match Qrow’s pacing, as though his body knew exactly what to do as his mind unraveled.

Qrow thrust in deeply without warning and the shock of nearly brought Ozpin off the bed, a tortured cry ripped from his lips as the waves rippled up his spine.

“There’s the sweet spot,” Qrow whispered.

He found that spot again and again, Ozpin almost sobbing with the intensity of the pleasure, his hips unable to keep pace now, his back never touching the bed, Qrow’s manipulations too obscenely masterful for Ozpin to do anything except writhe and moan.

The first crack of the belt was a complete shock.

The pain took a moment to come, roaring across Ozpin’s thigh. He gasped, no time to recover or even process the act before the next strike came.

“Qrow - _oh_ -“

Another expert prod of Qrow’s fingers silenced Ozpin again. This pattern continued, the harsh snap of leather, the red hot pain that followed in its wake, the indescribable pleasure from Qrow’s fingers, his mouth, that soothed it all into a perfect symbiosis of agony and desire.

“So much for chasity,” Qrow whispered. “You’re a perfect little slut, Oz. Unless…”

He didn’t want an answer; he knew Ozpin had no words, nothing left but physical reactions to the sensations wracking his body.

Qrow withdrew his fingers; Ozpin almost whined but was denied the opportunity, Qrow thrusting into him, the act all violent need.

_”Ah – oh God –“_

Qrow was fully inside him now.

The realization was simultaneously horrifying and utterly desirable.

“He can’t hear you now,” Qrow said from above. Ozpin felt the weight of his arms on either side of him, settling in place over the priest. He nudged his hips and Ozpin felt the ripples of the movement up his spine.

Qrow laughed as Ozpin moaned softly.

“How long have you wanted this, Oz? How long did you fight the urges?”

Each question was marked with a thrust, Ozpin arching into them, his hips too willing as Qrow’s taunting faded into labored breathing, the headboard striking the wall with the force of their pleasure. Qrow was more than enough to brush against Ozpin’s most delicate spot, the priest unable to hold back the raw sounds of lust. Qrow paused for a moment and then Ozpin’s arms were freed, the priest using his release to grasp helplessly at Qrow’s bare shoulders as the younger man resumed his frantic pounding. This was heaven, Ozpin thought brokenly, as Qrow’s breath rasped in his ear, his skin hot against Ozpin, their bodies moving together, desperate for one another.

“Have you broken your vow of purity enough yet?” Qrow panted, his low voice a thrill that sparked in Ozpin’s gut. “Or do I have to make you cum?”

Without breaking pace, Qrow reached down and took Ozpin in his hand, stroking in time, Ozpin’s fingers digging into Qrow’s back. He couldn’t take any more, the heat and need building up until Ozpin struggled to breathe, to feel anything that was not Qrow.

Ozpin came first, without warning, the friction of Qrow against him, inside him, too much to hold back. He arched as Qrow thrust into him, the moan choked back by the pleasure ravaging him. Qrow faltered, cursing as Ozpin tightened around him.

“Fuck, Oz,” he groaned, and Ozpin gasped as he felt a new heat fill him, eyes wide against the blindfold.

Qrow dragged the moment out, growling under his breath as he gave Ozpin a few more thrusts, the priest clinging to him with locked limbs.

Slowly, slowly, the intensity of the moment faded, Ozpin’s strained limbs loosening, aching from their former desperation. Ozpin’s hands were shaking but he did nothing to stop it, merely collapsing on the bed, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him.

Qrow withdrew almost carefully, falling bodily beside him.

“Fuck,” he said.

Ozpin could not yet find words, his mind still silenced by the flood of everything Qrow had brought out.

A shift on the bed and then Ozpin could see; Qrow was lying beside him, that familiar taunting smirk on his lips.

“Welcome to sin, Father,” he said quietly. “God, did you want it.”

The blush was instant, violent. Ozpin dropped his eyes from Qrow’s grin only to find his gaze on Qrow’s bare flesh, well-defined chest muscles, the dark trail of hair on his abdomen running down to –

Ozpin clenched his eyes closed.

Qrow laughed, genuine, unmocking. 

“Your shame is fucking adorable,” he said, cupping Ozpin’s chin and guiding him into a kiss. Now Qrow was all softness, his lips demanding but with none of his former aggression. Ozpin was putty, melting into the kiss and the gentle affection, his mind still too slow to remind him that this was all blasphemy, to want and to love this man –

“We should do this again,” Qrow whispered.

Ozpin could not trust himself to speak.

“I know that look,” Qrow said, with a crooked smile. “You don’t have to say it, Oz. I’ll take the blame for making you want this.”

He climbed off the bed, reaching for discarded clothes, stealing glances at the priest.

“I’ll give you some time to, you know. Process shit. _Pray.”_ He smirked as he buttoned his shirt. “Do you ever wear those fancy robes? The traditional ones?”

“Cassocks,” Ozpin said faintly, the correction automatic.

“Sure. You have those?”

“We wear them for Sunday Mass.”

Qrow chuckled. “Then I’ll see you Sunday,” he said, stooping to kiss Ozpin once more. “Don’t wear anything underneath.”

He laughed again at Ozpin’s shocked expression. 

“I want to see if you still have those welts on your thighs by then,” he whispered into Ozpin’s ear.

The priest shivered, parts of him twitching at the idea, his befuddled mind no match for the strength of his arousal.

Another kiss and then Qrow was gone. Ozpin remained on the bed for some time, staring at the ceiling, twisted in dirtied sheets, unable to decide if he anticipated Sunday with horror or complete yearning.


	4. Depression

Ozpin spent days in prayer, in devout attention to his position, to understanding his abrupt, almost uncontrollable new desires, asking – _begging_ – God to guide him. It didn’t come, and Ozpin’s willpower came like waves: in the cold morning light, Ozpin felt he could face Qrow and be no worse for it.

At night, when the church was empty and Ozpin thought of going home alone, he would gladly let Qrow have his way again and again.

He was suddenly, distressingly aware of how lonely he had been.

His patrons, dear flawed people that they were, treated Ozpin exactly as they had before he had thrown sacred vows aside to lie with Qrow. It was ridiculous to think they might _notice_ the change, and yet Ozpin was surprised nonetheless, as though God should have left an obvious mark to brand him.

Then again, Qrow already had.

Angry red welts littered Ozpin’s thighs, more than one peppered with scarlet when Qrow came close to breaking the skin. Ozpin pulled back his sheets every morning and regarded these marks sleepily, as though their existence was the most natural thing in the world.

Each morning they became less distinct, and Ozpin felt them fade with a poignant sadness.

_Masochist._

That’s what Qrow called him. It must be true, Ozpin thought dully, running a thumb gently over the darkest welt. 

Perhaps this _was_ God’s guidance. Perhaps Ozpin was not meant for his vows, if one man could so easily destroy his word.

The thought of leaving the church was almost as lonely as telling Qrow goodbye.

He went in early on Saturday. There was work to be done and things to think of that were not Qrow, and yet he invaded Ozpin’s mind effortlessly with each mention of Sunday Mass. 

_Don’t wear anything underneath._

Ozpin flushed with each recollection of that command. Of course he wouldn’t do it. Would he?

No, it was unthinkable.

And more than a little arousing.

But he couldn’t.

“Father Ozpin?”

The priest jerked out of his reverie, eyes landing on one of the choir boys. 

“Shouldn’t you be at practice, Oscar?”

“It ended a while ago.”

Ozpin glanced toward the podium; the boys were gone, the church no longer echoing with youthful voices.

“Oh. I must be a bit distracted today.”

“I’ll say,” Oscar said, grinning. “Some guy left this for you. Said you’d know what to do with it.”

He held forward a small parcel, taped crookedly.

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, accepting it without question. “Run along now. Enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”

“Sure thing, Father!”

Ozpin inhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t need to ask for the details of the man who left him this gift. He also knew not to open it with others around.

He slipped away quietly, closing the door of the guest room that now contained too many memories. He sat on the edge of the neatly made bed and pulled the tape from the box.

Inside was a collection of carefully folded fabric. 

Black lace. 

Ozpin picked up the note nestled inside, eyeing the fabric as he unfolded it. 

“Change of plans,” the note read, in scrawled black ink. “Wear this instead.” 

Below was a crooked heart.

“Q.”

Ozpin blushed before he even knew what Qrow had sent; somehow, this would be worse than the suggestion to go nude.

He lifted the black lace from the box, letting the fabric unroll in his hands, eyebrows knitting as he tried to determine the nature of Qrow’s request.

A set of women’s lingerie lay in his lap.

His face went hot in an instant.

Qrow couldn’t possibly be serious, Ozpin thought, picking up the pieces in horror. 

He imagined protesting to Qrow’s face, the younger man’s eyebrows rising with Ozpin’s objections.

“You’ll wear it,” he would say. And Ozpin would.

Saturday evening became a foggy, dreamlike memory, Ozpin going through the motions of his job without thinking, without awareness, again and again returning to the decision of whether he had fallen so far as to obey Qrow’s obscene commands.

He hid the lingerie in the guest room dresser, retrieving it just before he left for the night. He glanced at the bed and the memories erupted, the sweat-damp sheets, the smell of whiskey and wine, the hot growl of Qrow in his ear with every punctuated thrust –

Ozpin slammed the door behind him. 

He woke to his alarm the next morning, his mind immediately reminding him of his impending decision.

He dressed slowly, sipping coffee, shooting narrowed glances at the little cardboard box on his kitchen counter.

He couldn’t do it.

But neither could he leave it behind.

He resealed the box, placing it under one arm as he left his house. He would return it to Qrow, explain that he couldn’t accept such an inappropriate gift.

The church was still quiet at this early hour, but soon it would fill with familiar faces in their Sunday best, greeting Ozpin as they did every week.

So many people he knew so well, who thought they knew him.

Ozpin threw the box back in the dresser drawer, determined not to think of it.

Qrow did not appear early; Ozpin knew he would saunter in with the crowd, finding some venue to watch Ozpin, to smirk and mouth _are you wearing it?_ to see if Ozpin would blush.

And of course he would.

Ozpin stood in the back of the church as it began to fill, eyes darting to every head of dark hair, looking for those silver highlights. Standing still was impossible; the anticipation of Qrow’s arrival, his expectations, was enough to make Ozpin shift from one foot to the other, his imagination lending lewd images until his body grew warm and uncomfortable.

Even in his absence, Qrow could drive Ozpin mad.

Ten minutes before mass, Ozpin could take no more. He hurried to the back, away from the smiling faces he was expected to greet. He closed the guest room door behind him, turning the lock and pressing his back against the door, letting out a frustrated sigh.

What was this man doing to him?

He pulled the box from the drawer and placed it on the bed, staring at it for a long moment.

Was he really going to do this?

Ozpin swallowed, closed his eyes briefly, and then removed the lingerie from the box.

There were several pieces to it – the lace teddy that hugged his hips and reached beyond them, tying like a waist-cincher just beneath his nipples; garters that attached to thigh-high nylons, not quite high enough to conceal the fading welts left by Qrow’s belt. The thing was crotchless – Ozpin was certain his face was entirely scarlet now – but a very small pair of panties tumbled out of the other pieces. 

A women’s G-string.

Ozpin closed his eyes again, wishing desperately to pray for himself but knowing he could never do such a thing dressed as he was.

Instead, he pulled the panties on and secured everything in place.

Looking in the mirror was a mistake.

He watched the blush bloom on his cheeks, the black lace almost opaque, almost modest, if Ozpin’s lower regions weren’t so spectacularly on display, the G-string barely enough to cover him. He was right: this was entirely worse than being nude.

He pulled his cassock back on, the obscene articles disappearing beneath the heavy black fabric. Now his reflection looked like himself again, modest, professional.

He shifted on his feet, far too aware of the thin string that settled uncomfortably between his cheeks.

_I’m going to hell,_ he thought vaguely, unlocking the door.

The introductory rites had already begun when Ozpin slipped back, eyes immediately searching for Qrow. He wouldn’t sit in the front, or in the middle of pews; he would want a position where he could escape without notice. The back of the church, near the door, or –

Ozpin raised his eyes to the balcony seats.

Directly above him, Qrow sat alone, elbows on the railing, watching the priest with a perfectly awful grin.

Despite his lack of proper dress, Ozpin felt the room become very hot.

Qrow winked, nodding his head, almost imperceptive, an order for Ozpin to come to him.

Ozpin didn’t want to consider what Qrow might do if he disobeyed.

He stepped into the back hall again, this time turning to the stone staircase that led to the balcony, his heart pounding with each step. These stairs led to such damnation that Ozpin had never faced, or accepted, and now he came running of his own free will. 

Eagerly. 

Desperately.

Qrow caught his arm before Ozpin stepped onto the balcony, pulling him back into the shadows of the staircase. His back collided with the wall and he stifled a gasp, Qrow already pinning his arms above him, eyes alight with amusement and mischief, lips a mere inch from Ozpin’s.

Ozpin’s eyes darted from Qrow’s stare to his lips, wriggling in the younger man’s grasp. The only contact he had was Qrow’s hands around his wrists, and yet every part of him ached now, a willing servant to Qrow’s whims.

“Did you do as you were told?” Qrow whispered, his breath hot.

“Y-yes.”

Qrow grinned, releasing Ozpin’s wrists to pull his hem up an inch, chuckling when he saw the bare flesh of Ozpin’s ankles.

“You naughty thing,” Qrow whispered, and then he was upon Ozpin, mouth pressed against his, pinning the priest against the wall, Ozpin’s moral protests extinguished with the fire Qrow provided him. He pushed back into the kiss, arms wrapping around Qrow, fingers digging into his back. Qrow nudged a knee between Ozpin’s legs and the priest parted them, Qrow pressing a thigh against him. When he brushed Ozpin’s groin the priest whimpered into Qrow’s mouth, desperately aware of the solemn voices of mass just around the corner of the balcony all.

“Already hard?” Qrow murmured into Ozpin’s ear. “What a little slut.”

Ozpin knew this – the sins, the lingerie, the harsh demeaning words, the exhibition of it all – drove him to a level of such exquisite humiliation that compared to nothing else, blood pounding in his heart, rising to his throat, his cheeks, pooling below –

Qrow ground his hips against him and Ozpin’s fingers grasped at his shirt, his mouth opening but the sounds silenced, the deep, droning voice of the deacon speaking behind them.

Qrow released him suddenly, pulling at the cassock, lifting it above Ozpin’s ankles, his knees –

“Would you look at that.”

Ozpin turned his head away at Qrow’s scrutiny, low tones heavy with lust, shame burning the priest’s cheeks. 

“Christ, Oz.”

Qrow’s tone changed, his commanding tones weakened. Ozpin hazarded a glance, finding Qrow crouched before him, one hand still holding the hem up, the other –

Qrow ripped the panties down without ceremony, Ozpin pressing his lips together until it hurt. Qrow was ravenous now, his mouth around Ozpin, pumping mercilessly, one hand slipping around to caress Ozpin’s ass, a finger running between cheeks to circle his entrance. Ozpin exhaled sharply, clenching his eyes closed and wondering if he was really _doing this here, now_ but the pleasure was so obscenely good he knew he could not dream this well, Qrow’s mouth so good and so hot, his fingers perfect experts on Ozpin’s body after such a short time.

Ozpin arched from the wall when Qrow penetrated him, a strangled gasp concealed by the congregation responding as one to the deacon’s reading –

_Thanks be to God_

\- and then Qrow was pumping Ozpin with his mouth faster and thrusting into him with his finger and Ozpin’s body was on fire, heat like a thick liquid surging through him, pushing out blood and air, sparks in his fingertips that made his hands tremble as he grasped, helpless, at the cold stone wall behind him.

Qrow leapt to his feet again, a quick hard kiss before he paused, panting, eyes ablaze. 

“Turn around,” he said, voice hoarse. “I need you.”

Despite everything, the words sent a fresh blush to Ozpin’s face. He nodded once, turning to face the wall, placing his hands against it for leverage.

Qrow was already pulling at his cassock again. He placed a hand on Ozpin’s back and pushed down, forcing the priest to offer his rear more fully. Qrow piled the robes on his back, the cool air on Ozpin’s exposed flesh. Rough hands ran from his back to his hips, gripping each cheek as though to appreciate them separately, fingers slipping beneath the lace garters, nails biting into Ozpin’s skin.

_”Jesus,_ Oz,” Qrow said, the words an almost indistinguishable groan.

Qrow wanted him. _Badly._

It was the sexiest thing Ozpin could imagine, blood surging anew.

“Qrow,” he whispered, wriggling. “Please. _Please.”_

Qrow closed his eyes, as though the moment was too much.

Somewhere that seemed very far away, the congregation began to sing the Alleluia.

Qrow unfastened his pants, digging a small bottle from his pockets at the same time, frantic hands popping the lid open. Ozpin watched from over his shoulder, under eyes heavy with desire.

Qrow had never looked so beautiful, dark hair marked with age, swollen lips and feverish eyes, experienced hands smoothing lubricant over himself, his breath ragged with the increasing need for relief, for Ozpin.

He offered Ozpin a slick finger for more preparation, the other hand gripping the priest’s corseted hip. Ozpin’s head dropped, panting heavily at the sensation of Qrow stretching him, hands curling into fists.

“That’s enough,” Ozpin whispered. “Do it.”

_Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name._

_”Christ,”_ Qrow groaned, removing his finger and grabbing Ozpin’s hips with both hands, his fingers still slippery. “So fucking _hot.”_

_Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven._

He gave no warning save for the brush of his erection against Ozpin, and then he thrust in, Ozpin pressed against the wall by the force of Qrow’s aggression, the priest grasping at the smooth stone wall for leverage he could not find, his breath a suppressed whine as his body writhed. Qrow inside him was like nothing else, undoing him so completely he almost forgot the need to remain quiet, suppressing screams and sobs and moans that boiled within him with every thrust from Qrow.

_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses,_

He could feel the bruises sprouting on his hips, imagining them blooming into purple handprints, evidence of Qrow’s authority there. The younger man kept his impatient groans quiet, leaning over Ozpin and growling into his ear when he felt he could not restrain it entirely, one hand clenched over Ozpin’s against the wall, the other slipping down Ozpin’s hip until his fingers trailed along his cock, the priest bucking at the touch. Qrow rammed into him at the same moment, Ozpin’s face pressed against the wall, Qrow giving him no mercy, thrusts growing more erratic, his slick hand pumping Ozpin with cruel desperation.

_as we forgive those who trespass against us,_

“Oz,” came the hoarse warning, the soft plea.

Ozpin gyrated his hips as Qrow crashed into him and Qrow’s hand tightened around Ozpin’s, his pace faltering as Ozpin ground against him. He wanted Qrow to feel what he felt, to abandon himself to this bliss. Every cant of Ozpin’s hips forced a shared, whispered moan from them both, Ozpin tightening around Qrow’s cock as Qrow sent static up Ozpin’s spine. 

Qrow rested his forehead against Ozpin’s shoulder, his breath so hot it burned through the fabric. He was crushing Ozpin’s hand now, the grip on his cock almost painful, not an inch between the two men as Qrow slammed into him again and again, an exquisite descent into lust-driven madness.

They nearly came together, Ozpin arching first, coming apart in Qrow’s hand, every part of his body constricting with the spasm, so violent that Qrow’s hand slipped from the wall, returning to grip Ozpin’s hip like a vice. Ozpin could feel the moan Qrow held back, his body convulsing briefly, an obscene heat filling his lover.

_and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._

Slowly, the pressure on Ozpin’s hips faded, the echoes of the prayer still concealing their frantic panting. Just as before, Qrow was all gentleness now, pulling out carefully. Ozpin could hear the soft rustle of clothing as Qrow redressed, the priest’s trembling limbs too fragile to move yet. He could feel the slow trickle down one leg and the thought was suddenly too intense; he slipped down the wall until Qrow caught him with one arm.

“Easy,” he whispered. “Made you a bit weak in the knees, huh?”

“Perhaps a little,” Ozpin whispered faintly.

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.”

Qrow grinned, pulling Ozpin up, letting the cassock spill over him, concealing any evidence of the sins they committed together. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, brushing lips across Ozpin’s face. “You’re a hot piece of ass.”

Ozpin snorted at this crude compliment, but he found no reason to object. Qrow could call him whatever he wished; it would not change the fact that Qrow wanted this as badly as Ozpin did.

“The lingerie is the best idea I’ve ever had,” Qrow said, still peppering Ozpin’s face and throat with kisses. 

“You wanted me to blush.”

“Of course. I just didn’t think you’d look so fucking _good_ in it.” He offered Ozpin a proper kiss, the priest obliging, running hands down Qrow’s back, wanting his fingertips to memorize the muscles there.

“I’ll go so you can clean up before anyone notices,” Qrow whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t. It’s also so I don’t drag you downstairs and do it all over again.”

Ozpin flushed at this frank declaration. Qrow winked and then was gone, quiet footfalls fading as he slipped down the stairs. Ozpin inhaled deeply, leaning against the wall for a moment, his mind still in a fog of explicit satisfaction. He vaguely heard the deacon’s announcements to begin communion and knew he needed to clean up now. His absence may have been noted and he had not even begun to think of an appropriate excuse.

He would say he was ill. He was lying and yet not; Qrow was like a fever that came back each night. It burned through him and as far as Ozpin could tell, the only cure was Qrow himself.

Somehow Ozpin doubted he could find a passage in the bible that would defend this brand of logic.

He wasn’t entirely certain he even wanted to try.


	5. Acceptance

Another month saw Qrow at the church almost daily, stopping by on his lunch hour (Ozpin was shocked to learn he was a high school teacher) with sandwiches and coffee, texting when he had to go home right after work to take care of his nieces (Qrow typed like one of his students, abbreviations Ozpin didn’t understand and lewd one-liners he unfortunately did). They spoke, or texted, or were in each other’s company at any given moment of every day.

Neither of them gave their relationship a title, or a definition. They simply knew.

Qrow played everything off like a game of sex, teasing Ozpin to make him blush, returning to the church when he knew Ozpin was alone, even following him home one night “so I know where to come when I need to cum,” he declared, smirking when Ozpin went pink.

Ozpin pretended the opposite, above such earthly things like _sex,_ remaining with Qrow because Qrow needed him, was grounded by him, keeping more sober because of him. 

Still, Qrow slipped up, calling Ozpin “hon” in texts, forgetting to keep up his sexually aggressive façade and instead leaving some nights with nothing more than a sweet, longing kiss.

In return, Ozpin’s protests against Qrow’s obscene advances were never uttered convincingly, his body betraying his obvious interest, silently offering Qrow a key to his house after spending a night tangled in sheets and the other man’s limbs.

They knew, and they found no reason to speak it aloud.

Which made it all the more surprising when Qrow invited Ozpin to his house. They were lying in Ozpin’s bed, emerald green sheets wrapped about their legs, Ozpin’s head on Qrow’s chest, Qrow’s fingers playing gently with silver hair. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Qrow muttered, when Ozpin regarded him in mild astonishment, propping himself on one elbow. “You knew this would come up eventually.”

“I…I suppose so,” Ozpin said. “But you live with…”

“Nieces and brother-in-law, yeah. Well, they’re divorced now, but he’s still my brother. Anyway, it’s Ruby’s birthday this weekend, and I thought maybe you’d come by.”

“For your niece’s birthday.”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Then don’t.”

“No, I’d like to meet your family.”

Qrow’s features softened, pulling Ozpin back onto his chest. “Good.”

They said nothing more, the understanding reached, Qrow’s caresses lulling Ozpin to sleep.

He woke the next morning to a soft kiss and the smell of coffee.

“Gotta go,” Qrow murmured, brushing hair from Ozpin’s eyes. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Good luck, Professor.”

Qrow laughed, as he always did at Ozpin’s unlikely nickname. “Sure, Father. It’s Friday and they have a test today. Easy day, weekend of grading.”

“I can help.”

“Now _that’s_ sexy,” Qrow said, pulling on his jacket. He titled Ozpin’s chin up, one more kiss before he rushed out to beat the morning traffic. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Ozpin nodded sleepily, watching Qrow hurry out. He sat up and yawned, reaching for coffee – Qrow always remembered to keep it black.

He grimaced at the first sip, groping for his cell phone.

“Whiskey?” he typed. “At 7:00AM?”

“Wanted it to be a good morning,” Qrow wrote back quickly, likely still in the driveway. 

“I’m sure.”

“Besides, you get frisky after a shot or two. Think of me when you rub one out in the shower.”

Ozpin blinked.

He turned very red a moment later.

_How on earth was he supposed to face Qrow’s family?_

Qrow returned after noon with takeout, discovering Ozpin in the kitchen, the smell of cookies in the air. He stopped in the doorway, staring incredulously at the green apron Ozpin wore.

“Christ, Oz.”

Ozpin glanced up from spooning dough. “They’re for your family,” he said. “I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“Not _that._ The fucking apron.”

Ozpin looked down at it, then back at Qrow. “Flour can be difficult to get off clothing,” he said, or started to say, because Qrow had dropped the takeout onto the counter and then his hands were under the apron, pulling at buttons, his mouth seeking out Ozpin’s lips.

“Ever wear it without anything else?” he teased, nipping at Ozpin’s ear.

“Qrow –“ Ozpin squirmed against the attentions. “You don’t have very long for lunch –“

“Then stop struggling,” Qrow growled, pulling Ozpin’s shirt free, tossing it to the floor before he moved onto Ozpin’s belt.

It took no time at all before Ozpin wore the apron alone, Qrow bending him firmly over the kitchen counter.

Forty minutes later and Qrow was nearly late, grabbing one of the takeout bags and a quick kiss before flying back out the door. Ozpin, his apron utterly soiled, leaned against the counter, sweat cooling as it traveled languidly down his back, the granite cold against bare skin. Automatically, he placed the waiting cookie dough into the oven, set the timer, and went to take a shower.

Meeting Qrow’s family suddenly seemed an impossible task, given that Ozpin could not recall many moments where Qrow was not likely to grope, undress, or molest.

How old was Ruby? Eight?

This would be a disaster.

Saturday broke cold but sunny, Ozpin rising earlier than usual, unable to sleep. He browsed the newspaper without reading, drank two cups of coffee without tasting. Qrow hadn’t stayed the night as he had previous Fridays, saying he wanted to get grading done so he would be free the rest of the weekend.

Ozpin wondered if that meant he would stay the night tonight, returning with Ozpin after spending the day with his nieces. It would be nice to be alone again, the quickie in the kitchen yesterday not quite enough, Ozpin much preferring when Qrow took his time, making Ozpin truly _feel it_ -

Ozpin roused himself from the daydreams.

It was a child’s birthday. He could at least keep his mind on something more appropriate.

He dressed, smoothing his shirt self-consciously, slipping a black suit jacket over it, checking meticulously for his phone, keys, wallet. The cookies he grabbed on his way out, tapping the unfamiliar address into his car’s GPS.

Qrow’s house – his brother-in-law’s house – was cute, a small one-story house with childishly painted planter boxes in the front, great bright sunflowers scrawled in chalk on the driveway. Ozpin chuckled, noticing Qrow’s battered red sedan on the street, as though he couldn’t bring himself to park on top of the drawings lest he suffer the wrath of his nieces.

Ozpin parked across the street, straightening his shirt, his collar, and any other article of clothing used for fidgeting, the plate of cookies in hand. Considering his profession brought all manner of strangers to his church doors, Ozpin found himself immensely nervous at arriving at someone else’s door.

He rang the bell and took a deep breath.

The chime echoed with a dog’s excited barking, girlish screams following. 

Children. 

Ozpin wondered when he had last interacted with children beyond a baptism.

_Oh dear._

A girl answered the door, reaching only to Ozpin’s waist, her head a great mane of golden hair, large eyes turning up at him.

“Good morning –“

“DAD,” the girl yelled. “It’s one of those pamphlet guys Uncle Qrow hates!”

So saying, she turned on her heel, leaving the door wide open and Ozpin blinking in astonishment.

Voices murmured from within, a shuffling of feet followed, and an adult appeared, his hair the same yellow as the child, pale scruff on his chin, a black tribal tattoo on one arm.

“Sorry about that,” he said, sheepish, “uh…Father, is it?”

“Yes, I –“

“Look, I’m gonna have to be frank, Father, it’s my kid’s birthday and she and her sister are a handful, and we’re not really religious –“

“Taiyang?” Ozpin interjected, realizing that if he let the man ramble, they would both remain on the doorstep for entirely too long.

The blond man blinked. “Uh, yeah, that’s me –“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tai, let him in!”

Ozpin let out a short breath of relief when Qrow appeared, seizing Ozpin by the arm and dragging him inside, slamming the door behind them.

“Oz, Tai. Tai, Oz.”

Ozpin cleared his throat quietly, offering Taiyang a hand. “Ozpin Pine,” he offered.

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Taiyang took Ozpin’s hand, his eyes roving from Ozpin to Qrow, then back to Ozpin.

And Ozpin’s collar.

“Qrow, you didn’t mention…” Tai took a long breath. “A lot.”

Qrow shrugged. “What do you care? You said I could bring someone.”

“May I place these in the kitchen?” Ozpin asked, motioning toward the cookies.

“Straight through that doorway, can’t miss it,” Qrow said.

“Thank you,” Ozpin said, eager to escape the obvious conversation Qrow and Tai were already holding with their glares.

“Oz, wait.” Qrow grabbed his arm again, pulling him close, one hand snaking around his waist. He pressed a hard kiss against his lips, seemingly oblivious to Ozpin’s noise of surprise, to the shocked expression on Taiyang’s face.

“Thanks, babe,” Qrow said, slapping Ozpin’s ass.

Ozpin coughed, his face hot, searching for something to say.

He found nothing, simply escaping into the kitchen.

It occurred to him now that before this moment, no one else had known about his relationship with Qrow. A relationship that daily broke his vow of chastity. 

He put the cookies on the table, unwrapping them and shoving one into his mouth to give his body something else to process. The kitchen was small and cluttered but clean, children’s cups with cartoon characters on the table. 

“Hi.”

Ozpin glanced down at a small girl with dark hair, a red cape trailing behind her like a superhero or fairy tale heroine. 

“Hello,” he said. “You must be Ruby.”

Ruby nodded sagely.

“I heard it’s your birthday,” Ozpin said, his awkwardness with children still better than the uncomfortable confrontation in the entryway.

“Yep!”

Her eyes flickered to the plate of cookies.

“Would you like a cookie?”

“I’m not s’pposed to have one until after lunch,” she recited dutifully.

Ozpin glanced at toward the kitchen doorway. “This one can be our secret,” he said, handing her one.

Her eyes grew twice in size and she nodded enthusiastically. 

“Thank you, mister!”

“Ozpin.”

“Mister Ozpin,” she repeated through a mouthful of crumbs. “Uncle Qrow’s friend.”

“Your uncle has mentioned me?”

“Uncle Qrow talks about you a lot.”

“A lot?” Somehow Qrow telling this little girl about him was infinitely appealing.

“Yef,” she said, crumbs spraying. “He likes you.”

Ozpin chuckled. “Yes, I believe he does.”

“No,” Ruby said, solemn. “He _likes_ you. Yang says that means he’s your boyfriend. She knows lots about boys.”

Ozpin smiled. “Yes, Ruby, I think your sister is right.”

“I’m gonna go tell her!” the girl declared. She paused, eyes darting to the cookies, one more in her hand before Ozpin could react, her red cape flying behind her.

Ozpin shook his head fondly. Two girls this age meant a chaotic house, but the house was charming, the girls especially so, in that energetic, scattered sort of manner of children. Ozpin surveyed the kitchen for a moment longer, poking his head back into the foyer.

“You _said_ I could bring someone I’ve been seeing, Tai. What the fuck does it matter who it is?”

“It matters because you never mentioned you were _fucking a priest –“_

Ozpin cleared his throat.

Both men turned, Taiyang turning pink, Qrow fuming.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea,” Ozpin said quietly. “I can go.”

Qrow made an incredulous noise. “Oz, no. Stay. Tai?”

“I’m sorry,” Tai said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. I just didn’t expect…”

“A priest.”

“A _man.”_

“Oh.”

Silence fell between all three men.

“You…I mean…” Tai struggled for words. “You’re Catholic, right?”

“Yes.”

“And ordained.”

“…yes.”

“I don’t want to sound…indelicate, Father…”

“Ozpin is fine,” the priest said. “And I know what you want to ask, and yes, you’re right. I am breaking my vows with Qrow.”

“Ah. I know it’s none of my business –“

“Then butt out,” Qrow said.

“Qrow.”

“Oz, he’s got no room to judge –“

“I think he’s concerned about how this might look to the girls,” Ozpin said.

Qrow fell silent, glancing at Taiyang.

“It’s…hard to imagine explaining this,” Tai said at length.

“Then perhaps for now,” Ozpin said, removing the white tab from his collar, “this would be best? Unless there is another reason my presence may be problematic.”

“No, that…that’s fine. Look, Father – Ozpin, sorry – I’m just a little protective of them.”

“I’m aware of your family history, Taiyang.”

“Oh. Then I hope you don’t take offense because I just…want the best kind of people around them.”

“You think he’s not a good person?” Qrow asked. “He’s a fucking _priest_ , Tai, it’s their _job_ to be good people –“

“Until you convince them to break their vows?” Taiyang countered. 

“I may leave the church,” Ozpin said suddenly.

Silence fell again, Ozpin shifting under the strain of incredulous stares.

“I – what?” Qrow shook his head violently. “Oz, you don't have to -”

“I’m still undecided,” Ozpin said, unable to look Qrow in the eye, not expecting to have this conversation here and now, or before a perfect stranger. “I’ve been looking for a sign for some time, for guidance. I thought my straying from my faith was indicative of my own flaws, but…I no longer believe loving someone could be a sin.”

Qrow stared. Taiyang shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

“Perhaps,” Ozpin said quietly, “this is a sign that my vocation is no longer what I should be doing with my life.”

“Jesus, Oz.”

“It’s just…something that has been on my mind for some time.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Qrow said. “Tai can suck it up and the girls don’t know the first thing about vows or church or anything.”

“Uh. Right,” Tai said, rousing himself into speech. “Ozpin, please stay. I didn’t mean to make this a big deal.”

“It’s for your children. I understand.”

“Speaking of which, I should check on them. Please, make yourself at home.”

Qrow watched him go, then turned to Ozpin, hands slipping around his waist.

“You’d quit the church? For me?”

“Partly for you. Partly for myself.”

Qrow nodded, his eyebrows knit in concentration. “If it wasn’t the kid’s birthday…”

“What?”

“I’d push you against the wall right now and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”

_”Qrow.”_

“You’re adorable when you pretend to hate that,” Qrow said, kissing Ozpin’s neck. 

“I refuse to condone your language.”

“Bullshit. You love when I talk dirty.”

Qrow pulled Ozpin against him, brief pecks on his throat and cheeks until Ozpin was laughing, half-heartedly shoving him away.

“Oh, gross,” Yang said loudly. “Get a room, Uncle Qrow.”

“Got one, and it’s right next to yours,” Qrow countered.

“EW. UNCLE QROW. _DAAAAAD.”_

Qrow released Ozpin to grab his niece, ruffling her already wild hair as she shrieked and struggled, Ruby giggling profusely, another cookie in her hands.

Ozpin watched the domestic scene with a small smile. He was still uncertain about his decisions regarding his vows, his own character; but, watching this family, the family Qrow had invited him to join, he was certain that he was on the right path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much so seeing my first fic to the end! I hope you enjoyed it! I'll be continuing "The Shining Beacon" with my partner-in-crime (updates Sunday!).
> 
> I'm sure we'll have more AUs in the future. I hope you'll enjoy those as well. <3
> 
> ~Clocks


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